Fragile
by Drea Jackman
Summary: Written over a year ago this lil fic takes a look at Angel's life as Liam, before he was sired.


Title: Fragile  
  
Written By: Drea Jackman  
  
Email: DreaJackman@Literati.co.uk  
  
Rating: 15 (UK-rating)  
  
Summary: Liam's life lacked that little extra spark and love that could've kept him away from becoming Angelus/Angel in the future. What could've driven him to it?  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Angel (or any of the characters) and I never will. *cries* "I wanna keep Angel!"  
  
Archive: Sure, just email me to lemme know where first. Thanks!  
  
Feedback: Hell yeah! It's another of the small pleasures of writing.  
  
Author's Note: First ever fic I tried out. Written over a year ago it was attempted when nothing was known of Angel's past as Liam. In short, I guessed and played around with the idea of making it a series or something. In the end, I moved on to greater things...  
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*Galway Ireland, 1753*  
  
The night is cold and wet, rain falling to the darkened cobbled streets. A young man  
stumbles off the dankly lit street and onto a small drive leading up to a large house. The  
house itself not all that grand, but for what the small town had to offer it was grand in  
comparison. All the windows are darkened, everyone asleep on this horrible night. He  
creeps around to the side of the house, entering through the unlocked kitchen door.   
Treading silently into the hall passing a statue displayed on a pedestal toward the stairs.   
Approaching the steps with caution, aware of his slightly drunken state, he started to  
climb.  
  
"...Liam" the voice was stern and strong.  
  
A man stepped out of the shadows at the top of the stairs, an angered presence glaring  
down at his son. Liam was quick to respond in his fright.  
  
"Father...I" he began, voice not betraying the same fear his stance did., but he was cut  
off.  
  
"I'll hear no more of your lies boy. Do you learn nothing?"  
  
Liam could say nothing. He stood, half way up the steps, clutching the smooth wooden  
banister that ran along side. His voice may not have been broken by his fear, but his  
body knew instinctively to be wary of this being. A fine figure of a man his age, Liam  
stood tall at around 6ft, strong build, powerful arms and yet when in the presence of his  
father he always seemed broken, body slightly hunched, as if tensed to take his  
punishment. As if sensing what was coming next he backed away a few steps, but was  
not fast enough.  
  
"You'll drink and you'll lie and you'll stay the worthless wretch you've always been.   
You could never be anything more."  
  
With every harsh word spoken he took steps toward Liam. Advancing on the boy that  
cowered before him like a frightened animal, desperately searching for a way to escape  
the beating that would follow. Eyes darting back and forth around the shadows almost  
praying that a wall or the floor would somehow rise up and engulf him, protecting him.   
His fearful gaze settled on the object clenched within his fathers furious grasp and his  
body began to tremble violently. He could not take his eyes off the walking stick, that  
horrid wooden club capped with the families crest in the handle, solid silver.   
  
"....Father, father please......I didn't mean to..." voice shaking so much that he couldn't  
finish his desperate plea.  
  
"Enough!" his father yelled  
  
The viscous tones echoing off into the silent house, down corridors that Liam would have  
gladly escaped into, rooms that he would have hidden in. Raising the stick he swung it  
out at Liam, who drunkenly leapt back to avoid it. In his state of partial drunkenness he  
missed his footing and fell down the rest of the steps, tumbling backwards, the pedestal  
cracking into his back and knocking the statue to the floor where it smashed into pieces.   
  
Still reeling from the pain in his head he almost didn't feel the blows made to his side  
until his father picked him up. Holding him up before him, his father continued to  
"discipline" his boy. Between every frightened gasp or plea Liam made he followed it  
with a strike across the face, only hitting harder the more he begged for mercy. After  
Liam had no more strength to stand by himself or to cry out to his father, only then did he  
stop and let his limp body fall to the floor. He straightened up his collar and disappeared  
upstairs to bed.  
  
Liam lay unconscious for sometime before coming round again. This time had been one  
of the worst beatings, but he was still familiar with the situation. Pulling himself up  
against the wall he gasped as a thousand aches and pains shot through his body.   
Gradually he made his way up the rest of the steps to his room. It wasn't until he had  
safely locked the door that he truly felt safe.   
  
Walking to the mirror he looked at the bloodstained face that stared back at him, eyes  
that had once been bright and so full of life now looked out upon their world dull and  
listless, the fire had gone, burnt out after so many beatings. Shaking himself out of his  
trance he limped to the wooden chest across the room.   
  
He slowly began to undress for bed, trying to carry on as normal. He struggled with his  
boots, eventually laying them aside, then moved on to his shirt. Opening it to reveal the  
sickeningly blue and purple bruises that marred his skin he winced at the sight in the  
mirror. Taking the sleeve and wiping away the bloodstains from his features and the  
fresh blood that still trickled from the wound by his eye. It stung, he jumped as the silk  
made contact. Suddenly, as if the mere stinging of one cut had triggered the sensation to  
the rest of his body.   
  
Tears formed in his eyes and he felt lost again. Unable to contain the whimper that  
escaped his lips he sank to the floor. Burying his face in the bed coverings than hung  
beside him, huddling into a tight ball he clung to sheets as if they provided the protection  
and comfort he needed, he wept. The house loomed around him vast and silent as  
outside the rain continued to pour.  
  
*Los Angeles, present day*  
  
Alone in his office Angel sat facing the open window, the room in darkness. His deep  
brown eyes never flickered as he watched the rain splashing off the glass panels then  
running down in cascades. Hearing voices and bustle again he shifted in his seat, coming  
out of his reverie.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
